


Threat of Danger

by Anonymous



Series: Time of Day [3]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Consensual Somnophilia, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Sex Toys, Sexual Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 05:55:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15723333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: As Garak and Bashir progress in their relationship, they try to incorporate some element of surprise.





	Threat of Danger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ScuzBrains](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScuzBrains/gifts).



Bashir rounded the corner on the Promenade, brandishing a Cardassian pistol as soon as he came into view of Garak’s shop.  He had timed each motion out intentionally, prepared to catch Garak’s eye with the gleam of the weapon. His vision was obscured by dress forms and patrons, and he had to step closer to notice Garak at all.

Inside the shop, Garak was dividing his attention between a young ensign in need of measurements, and the unmistakable red glow of Bashir’s disruptor, in its charging state.  When Bashir stepped through the threshold, Garak led into a charming apology, an invitation for the ensign to come back later, and even this was interrupted.

The ensign turned around to acknowledge his senior officer, who merely gestured for him to move out of the way.

“Mister Garak,” Bashir said, in a slow and detached tone, “would you care to explain _this_?”

Garak parted his lips but declined to speak, beyond apologizing again to his customer. 

“It isn’t mine, Doctor,” Garak added, after a while.

At this point, the ensign left willingly, and the other remaining shoppers followed his lead.

Bashir glanced down, eyes momentarily softening, before returning fully to his role.

“I don’t know anyone else on the station with access to replication patterns for these,” Bashir explained, still showing off the pistol, weighing it in his hand.

“Oh, I could name a few,” Garak muttered slyly.  

The disruptor was, in fact, created under Bashir’s authority, and it was not really a disruptor at all.  It was replicated exactly to scale, with deep decorative grooves and a trigger and a warming mechanism, but that was as far as the similarities ran.  Fortunately, they did run deep enough to allow its appearance in public from time to time, when Garak and Bashir felt the need to change their usual intimate routine.  

“I have a few more questions, if you wouldn’t mind accompanying me…?” Bashir’s tone was tight and firm, with no room for Garak to wiggle out of.

So, he stood still, challenging Bashir with his eyes alone.  Bashir shook his head at this, and drew the phaser into a firing position.

“Against the wall, slowly” he said.

Thankfully, Garak kept the lights dim inside his shop; Bashir was indulging dangerously in his arousal already.  He loved encounters where Garak was allowed to play at defiance. For a moment, he considered advancing their _appointment_ to ‘a dressing room, immediately.’

But they had put in at least a week of planning, and it would not be any good of him to slip out of his role now.

With a knowing nod, Garak paced to the side wall of the shop, not easily visible from the outside.  He perched his hands on the wall between the pillars of two dressing room doors, palms flat. Bashir sighed, breath warm and low as he leaned in beside Garak’s neck.  Careful not to stifle Garak completely, he adjusted his stance, pressing his groin to the side of Garak’s leg, and reaching to clasp Garak’s wrists in his hands. He tucked the phaser away in his belt, letting Garak feel impressions of it, and then of his cock through the fabric of his uniform.  

“What an _unforgivable_ breach of protocol,” Garak said, in a measured tone, “I’m _ashamed_ of this… careless display.”

Bashir pushed in closer, breathing against Garak’s ear, watching his scales prickle and tinge blue.  To let Garak feel some similarity of sensation, Bashir rubbed himself subtly up and down, listening to Garak shiver.  

“We’ll see about that,” Bashir said.  “Hands behind your back.”

After Garak had complied, Bashir reached to hold both his wrists together with one hand, while fumbling for the phaser with the other.  Garak listened for the _swish_ of the silicone against the fabric holster, and then he felt the head of it being dug into the small of his back.  His breath wavered when Bashir addressed him, guiding him with a forceful tug toward the door.

“You and I are going to have a talk somewhere private,” Bashir said.

Keeping himself obscured behind Garak, Bashir showed him along across the Promenade, toward the habitat ring.  He made further threats in a voice just loud enough to be overheard by passing civilians, and Garak allowed himself a private smile at this unexpected gesture.  Bashir was, in a very real way, shaping the perception of truth. It was a topic they debated hotly, and one which Garak would only surrender to on account of kisses, or more.  But it seemed Bashir had taken the lesson after all, keeping his opinion to himself until now.

What he was doing with his idle threats and fake phaser was establishing a truth - not _lying_ , Garak insistently assured him.  He was making a scene that any witness would recall just as they saw it, with Garak being shoved out of sight under threat of punishment, with a Cardassian pistol that he had apparently sourced himself for nefarious purposes.

But to the two of them involved in the encounter, none of that was true at all.

When they reached their shared quarters, Bashir showed Garak immediately to another wall, making him bow his head in shame and press his _chufa_ against the panel.  They made it to the bedroom, and Bashir set the phaser aside on the mattress just long enough to work his way free of his jacket.  He needed to release his grip on Garak’s wrists in order to pull off his uniform shirt, but he swiftly repurposed this to take over the task.

Loosely, he used the rollneck to bind Garak’s wrists.  In the end, it was more to enhance the scene than to genuinely restrain Garak; an encounter would be worthless if he was in distress.  Bashir was constantly anticipating his limits and adjusting to them, and Garak could not think of a more meaningful display of love than that: accommodation.  He felt he needed a lot of it, but Bashir was never troubled by the amount.

With his jacket and shirt removed, Bashir slid down the zipper on his trousers, and brought himself close behind Garak again.  This time, he reached for Garak’s hands, adjusting them and curling his fingers before sliding his groin over them.

“ _Oh_ ,” Garak quietly exclaimed, as he was forced to understand the fabric through touch alone.  

He found the heat of Bashir’s cock distracting, but in no way annoying, as he rubbed blindly behind his back, grasping the soft undergarment and gathering the base of it, tugging it to one side.  From there, he was able to touch Bashir’s penis without obstruction, and Bashir groaned.

“Not until I’m ready for you,” Bashir admonished, stepping back and adjusting his briefs.  “I’ll make that very clear. Understood?”

Stifling a whimper, Garak nodded, and Bashir forced his forehead closer against the wall.  His _chufa_ bent and then stiffened, in an instinctual defensive maneuver, which Bashir oversaw carefully.

“Good,” Bashir said, much more gently, so Garak knew their involvement beyond these roles remained intact.  “Now, I need you to lower yourself, bend forward… good.”

Garak leaned in, resting as much weight as possible on his forehead.  It was difficult to balance this way, and only became more so when Bashir reached in to roughly grope him through his trousers.  He tugged them down and left them loose around Garak’s ankles, and then did the same to his undergarment. Garak’s shirt was shoved upward and out of the way, and that was the extent of his undressing.

With this complete, Bashir brought his hand to Garak’s seam, finding it hot and pulsing with Garak’s arousal.  He slid one finger inside with ease, thrusting slowly, spreading Garak open to admit another.

Already, Garak was dribbling fluid, and he muttered several times - out of character - about his need to evert.  Bashir relied heavily on his self-control to keep the scene going.

“When I order it,” he said firmly, and that was all.

Rather than speak - or allow Garak to become vulnerable - Bashir chose this moment to drop to his knees.  He spread Garak’s legs apart with both of his hands, and brought his lips in to kiss the small scales at the base of Garak’s slit.  From here, he worked his way inside with his tongue, gradually deepening his movements.

He hummed with satisfaction as he drank, letting the emotion turn to pride when Garak responded with broken little whimpers.  One of Bashir’s greatest achievements, as his partner, was allowing him the freedom and safe environment to vocalize his pleasure.  Garak had controlled his responses for too long.

As he held Garak open, Bashir kneaded gently at his buttocks and thighs, drawing out surprised yelps, followed by low moans.  He continued with this until he felt the head of Garak’s penis emerging from its sheath, insistently rubbing against the very tip of his tongue.  Ordinarily, he would be thrilled to bring Garak to climax orally, but this did not fit within the confines of the scene they had designed.

Clearing his throat in a cautionary way, he stood and promptly replaced his tongue with three fingers, flaring them to catch Garak’s cock before it could emerge any further.

“And what might a simple tailor like you be doing with a weapon like that?” Bashir insinuated, gesturing with his other hand toward the phaser, which lay abandoned on the bed.

“Certainly you will recognize the irony, Doctor,” Garak replied, thrilled with the chance to lie safely, “but I keep it to protect myself from those who might… take advantage.”

“Hmm.”

Bashir broke character momentarily, to stand and give Garak a reassuring kiss on the cheek.  His fingers remained inside Garak’s purse, buried past the knuckle, and he needed to balance this with gentility.  The two of them were expressing it to each other, urgently - no advantage was being taken.

“Do you know how to use it?” Bashir asked, beginning to thrust idly with his fingers, tracing them lightly over Garak’s internal ridges.

Garak gasped and faltered for a moment, ensuring he could answer with a steady voice and full conviction, even when Bashir began squeezing his shoulder scales with his other hand.  

“I’m afraid not.  Although perhaps that is for the best?”

“Are you asking me to show you, Mister Garak?” Bashir asked, nose brushing the shell of Garak’s aural ridge.  

“I s-s- _ahh_ \--” he yelped when Bashir drove one fingernail into his sheath-ridge, hard, “I suppose so, Doctor.”

He felt compelled to evert, and was only able to resist because Bashir’s hand remained in place.

“Go and get it, then,” Bashir ordered.  “Walk over to the bed. Slowly, no sudden moves.”

Garak turned away from the wall, and Bashir’s eyes followed him closely, studying every part of his body as he tensed and prepared to take a step.  Before he could do that, his lip trembled.

“ _Doctor_ ,” Garak said pleadingly, “if I do that, I might… become visible…”

Bashir was willing to put up with Garak’s vague speech patterns for the time being; this encounter was designed to allow him to indulge his tendency to lie, while placing Bashir firmly in control of their actions.  It would not matter what Garak said, as long as he did not lie about his pain tolerance, but Bashir kept a close eye on his reactions, anyway, and there was only one agreed-upon ending in mind. Garak called it a perfect gift, although neither of them wanted to wait for their birthdays to put the plan into practice.

“ _Visible_?” Bashir teased, tugging down his own briefs. “We can’t have that, now can we?  Get on your knees.”

Playing along, Bashir reached for Garak’s bound wrists, forcing him down. Garak was forced to kneel atop his own ankles, keeping himself from everting.  Bashir smirked and took hold of himself, and touched the head of his cock to Garak’s _chufa_ , sighing softly at the cold.

Garak’s lip trembled - he wanted to lean in to kiss Bashir’s cock - but otherwise he remained still.  Bashir slipped one hand down low, cupping Garak’s slit before forcing one finger inside.

“You aren’t smuggling any other contraband, are you?”

With determination, Garak shook his head.  He needed to remember to tell Bashir, afterward, what a compelling enforcement officer he made.

Garak raised himself enough for the inspection to continue.  Even though Bashir had already been inside him, it added another layer to their game. He was surprised - but thrilled - when Bashir shoved him down again, and withdrew his hand.

“No, I’m not here to be manipulated.  I just want the truth, and I’m going to get it,” Bashir said.

“I’m not… carrying anything else, I assure you.”

During this, Bashir began slowly stroking his cock, and Garak managed to contain his excitement to his eyes, wide and unblinking.

“Move your hips,” Bashir commanded. “I want to watch you.”

The goal was to give Garak a healthy dose of humiliation, and he licked his lips as the plan was finally vocalized.

As he was told, Garak began to rut, grinding his slit down and into his own ankle.  Bashir watched as he tried different speeds, and finally let out a groan when he touched a particularly sensitive scale along his slit.

“Again, right there,” Bashir instructed, pumping himself to the same rhythm.

“ _Ohh_ ,” Garak whimpered, repeating the motion.

“Have you been lying to me?”

Regardless of the answer, the next move of the scene was already decided, and Garak knew it: Bashir was going to mark his face.

“H-how could I?” Garak pleaded, turning the question around.

“No, not good enough.  Tell me what you were doing with that phaser.”

Garak inhaled on a shiver, and his tongue crept from his mouth, flattening to scent the air.  He knew he was safe to invent and bribe and charm, and he would still receive exactly what he wanted.  Lying as a game was much more thrilling to him than doing it in matters of life and death.

“I was contacted about a contract,” Garak began.

“A contract?  You’re an assassin.”

Garak bit his lip.

“I needed to use a specific weapon, a precise replica of one belonging to an illustrious legate… who was… meant to be visiting the station tomorrow night…”

He only paused to breathe; the ideas occurred to him compulsively without any trouble. 

“I arranged a dinner and a meeting, and I had staked out a perfect viewing point from the upper level of the Promenade…”

“Who employed you?” Bashir interrupted.

“I don’t see how that matters,” Garak replied, pressing his lip up to touch the underside of Bashir’s cock, “because I am the one taking the punishment, am I not?”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Bashir decided, “don’t say another word.”

Garak nodded and swallowed audibly, then remained silent and entranced until Bashir was finished.  Bashir was quiet, too, aside from his ragged breathing, intending to amplify Garak’s humility, forcing him to reflect privately.  Garak continued to rut back and forth on his knees, giving himself friction, but never enough space to evert.

As the two of them enjoyed in other settings, Bashir came against Garak’s _chufa_ , and then against his cheek.  Garak’s tongue remained slack, as he gasped and caught stray drops.  For a moment, Bashir’s smile fought its way through the facade, warm and genuine, and Garak felt better than he could ever recall.

This was quickly shoved aside by their roles; Garak enjoyed this, too, and considered each moment they spent planning this encounter like stacked promises of sanctity.  Bashir worked hard to look uninterested, as Garak took his offering and moaned as he swallowed. To maintain control, Bashir reached for Garak’s hair, tugging it only firmly enough to get his attention, enticing him to stand.  Mumbling broken apologies, Garak everted as he was heaved upward, while Bashir dismissively clicked his tongue.

“The bed,” Bashir directed, shoving Garak forward.  

Garak clambered onto the edge of it, with Bashir still holding his wrists, much tighter than the thin fabric alone was capable of.  When Garak struggled, Bashir tugged at the loose edges of the knot, bringing Garak’s palms together and forcing him to bridge his fingers for some semblance of comfort.

Then, Bashir picked up the phaser and studied it, with Garak straining to watch within his peripheral vision.

“I only have one more question for you, Mister Garak,” Bashir said slyly.  “ _Should I go easy on you_?”

Bashir reached forward, and cupped one hand gently over Garak’s throat.  

“Nnnhh--” Garak groaned.  “In all honesty, Doctor… I would be disappointed if you did.”

“Very well.”

With this invitation, Bashir joined Garak on the mattress.  Garak could feel the front of the pistol pressing in against the fatty tissue above his hip, unguarded by ridges or by ribs.  He exhaled calmly, until the sensation was suddenly contrasted by Bashir’s penis, which he felt pressing against his thigh.  As it pulsed and dribbled, Garak focused on every movement.

Garak resigned himself to silence, while Bashir’s character set out to punish the transgression.  Just like they had agreed to, days in advance, Bashir reached roughly between Garak’s legs, ignoring his straining cock in favor of the gaping purse.  He stuffed the phaser into it, watching carefully as Garak reacted to each articulated point of its width, each flare of its own decorative ridges. These were designed to accent the scales inside Garak’s purse, and especially the ridge that ran along his sheath.  

“Mmm _ahh_ \--!” Garak yelped, when Bashir tugged the toy outward and thrust it in more forcefully.

Bashir was aware of Garak’s full range of nonverbal reactions.  He watched closely as Garak gripped harshly at his own fingers, as he bit down on a moan, as his hips twitched forward minutely before he could stop himself.  When he felt Garak needed the reassurance, he paused his routine and leaned in to kiss Garak’s cheek - a signal they agreed on to be safe from the rest of the scene.

Next, he took hold of Garak’s cock, smiling to himself about the pleasing texture.  Garak was cool and slick, begging to be pumped to completion. Bashir never grew tired of the gesture, and kept a steady rhythm even as Garak grunted and took the sharp penetration of the phaser.  

In the relative quiet, Bashir was able to listen to Garak’s breathing, and when he brought his body in close against Garak’s, he could narrow in on Garak’s pulse.  He ensured Garak was safe and comfortable, and not taking on too much for the sake of a thrill.

Eventually, Garak’s panting turned into vocalization, drawn-out and desperate.  He longed to say Bashir’s name, and to express his gratitude in clear terms, but the rules of their session forbade it.  

Bashir, to his credit, was always willing to bend rules when necessary.  If someone was depending on him to do so, he would.

He forced the toy in further, so that the trigger was flush with the entrance of Garak’s seam.  Garak could feel this, and stilled, gasping in shock. As with a genuine disruptor, the heating panel buzzed into life, coursing against the walls of Garak’s purse.

“Should I have mercy?” Bashir asked, in a breathy whisper.

“No,” Garak replied hoarsely, “I don’t deserve that.”

Bashir said nothing.  All he needed to do was press the trigger.  

As he did so, he tightened his hold on Garak, sending him screaming into climax.  The discharge of the phaser was white hot inside him, and Bashir’s touch was that of a lover and an expert.  Garak spent himself in violent spurts over Bashir’s fingers, gasping and groaning loudly. By the time Bashir was wringing the last drops out of him, there were tears in his eyes.  His whole body trembled, and Bashir kissed his cheek for a long while, quietly signaling the end of the session.

Next, Bashir untied his undershirt from Garak’s wrists, and tossed it aside in the general direction of the laundry chute.  He helped Garak to turn over, keeping a firm and reassuring grip on both of his shoulders while lowering him to rest with his back against their nesting cushions.  Still, Garak was twitching and mumbling unintelligibly, but his eyes were patient, alert, and glowing with love. His legs remained apart, knowing to wait for the rest of Bashir’s attention.

“That was… I wasn’t sure about the roles, at first, but that was—“

“Yes, you were,” Garak quietly insisted. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Bashir replied.

He held Garak’s thighs apart, and bent over his slit to taste his release. With the utmost gentility, he ran his tongue downward over Garak’s cock before entering his purse, withdrawing the phaser as he did so. Garak was left loose and dripping as a result, and Bashir studied closely with all of his senses.

“I’m going to get the regenerator after all,” he surmised.  “Just to be safe…”

“Mmm, in a minute,” Garak mumbled to himself.

Bashir sighed fondly and lowered his mouth again, kissing Garak’s seam scales again and again.  

“You’re a mess,” Bashir said, continuing to gently taste him, regardless.

Garak stroked Bashir’s hair as he continued this delicate observation, both of them sighing to themselves with delight and exertion.  When Bashir’s touches became more studious than purely indulgent, Garak cleared his throat, and Bashir paused.

“I’ll be right back.  You can rest your legs now, Elim."

With playful reluctance, Garak lowered his creaking joints and adjusted the pillow behind his head until he was comfortable. Bashir could be heard rifling through his medkit, and then consulting with the laundry chute beside the door. Garak did not focus on hearing him clearly, because it did not matter.

Bashir returned with a new set of sheets folded in his arms, and the regenerator settled on top.  He also managed to produce a wet towel from somewhere inside the heap of blankets, and Garak watched through heavily lidded eyes as Bashir set to cleaning him.

He lovingly patted Garak’s cheek with the towel, rubbing off his own semen, which had dried there. Then he drifted upward to the _chufa_ , which was stained in the same way.

“Does it really inhibit your thinking process?” Bashir asked.

“Hmm?  Only as much as I allow it to,” Garak said.  

Bashir left lingering kisses over Garak’s jawline, tasting the desire in his sweat.

“I thought that was amazing,” Bashir said.

“Mmm,” Garak replied, eyes fluttering shut.

“...but I do need to move you.  Just for a minute or two while I change the sheets… I want you to be able to rest comfortably while I tighten your _cloacal_ membrane...”

At the overly formal language, Garak tutted his tongue, and recalled the time they had spent planning this encounter.

“I refuse to believe I did not sit through enough of your cavity mapping examinations.”

Bashir gave an amiable chuckle.

“Too many, I think.  The elasticity isn’t quite what you’re--”

“You can spare me the details, _Doctor_.”

Bashir nuzzled his _chufa_ , and picked him up with little difficulty, carrying him out to the sofa.  Garak wrapped his arms around Bashir’s shoulders, luxuriating in this provision of care.  The time he had to spend alone passed quickly, and when Bashir returned him to the bedroom, the sheets were smooth and fresh and warm to the touch.

“Flannel,” Bashir explained, watching Garak dig his fingers into the fabric.  

“One of my favorites.”

He settled down on his back again, shifting until Bashir had sufficient room to lean over him, wielding the dermal regenerator.  It broke the silence with a faint _buzz_ , and Garak made a sound in his throat to match it.  Bashir worked quickly but thoroughly, holding Garak’s legs at precise angles and reassuringly kneading his thighs.  When he was finished, he switched the machine off and kissed Garak’s _chuva_ , eliciting a surprised laugh.  Garak managed to retract during this, while Bashir oversaw him, patting his seam when it was full again.  

“There,” Bashir said, raising his chin.  “Ready for bed?”

Garak’s fingers crawled idly downward to inspect Bashir’s work.  He inclined his brow ridge to ask permission, which always made Bashir feel weak in the best way.

“Of course, here,” he said, grasping Garak’s hand and guiding it, slipping one finger inside his purse.

“Hmm…” Garak said, probing and then withdrawing, “I feel you may have been overzealous in your efforts to restore - what did you call it? - my _elasticity_.”

“No, this is based on data from last year.  You’ve got to remember all the planning and preparation necessary for the--”

Bashir glanced in vain at the phaser, which had been set aside on the nightstand to be sanitized later.  Garak shut his eyes and interrupted.

“I was trying to _respectfully_ address the fact you had not penetrated me during this encounter.”

“Ah,” Bashir said, settling himself down at Garak’s side and reaching to massage his sore forearms, “well, we made the phaser to be wider and… more exciting… and it wouldn’t’ve--”

“May we, now?”

“Elim, you’re exhausted.”

“It comforts me,” Garak admitted, eyes still closed.

His fingers crept through Bashir’s and onto his arm, then his chest, then downward to play with the thick curls of hair above his erection.

“Does it?” Bashir teased.

“Do you recall the time we each took tranquilizing medication, and proceeded to sleep _inside_ one another?”

“Of course I do, Elim.”

“I can think of no better way to... “ his meaning trailed off solely into gesture, as he rubbed his palm against Bashir’s shaft.

“Widen yourself?”

“I only meant to--” Garak began, sounding affronted.  

“Save it,” Bashir said.  “I think that would be fine, for tonight.”

Garak rumbled with contentment, as he felt Bashir slipping himself into place.  They remained that way throughout the night, comfortable and still.


End file.
